


Broken to Hand

by romanticalgirl



Category: King Arthur (2004)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-01
Updated: 2013-01-01
Packaged: 2017-12-05 13:01:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/723588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/romanticalgirl/pseuds/romanticalgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As if you have a choice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Broken to Hand

**Author's Note:**

> For [](http://sasha-b.livejournal.com/profile)[**sasha_b**](http://sasha-b.livejournal.com/) who wanted humor and sexin'. Many thanks to [](http://widget285.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://widget285.livejournal.com/)**widget285** for the beta.
> 
> Originally posted 7-8-06

Arthur watched Lancelot closely, his eyes following the slow, steady movements as Lancelot moved around the small corral, his voice pitched low.

The horse eyed Lancelot with a mixture of distrust and apprehension, a look Arthur himself had seen in Lancelot’s own eyes more than once. Whinnying softly, the horse backed up several steps, halting Lancelot’s slow advance.

“Roman horse,” Lancelot spoke aloud, startling Arthur, though the Sarmatian’s disturbing ability to sense Arthur’s presence was nothing new. “You’ve bred all the natural instincts out of the poor animal.”

“Seems an excuse to me.”

“An excuse?” Lancelot’s eyebrow arched higher, though his eyes stayed on the horse.

“Whenever something remains immune to your not inconsiderable charms, you find some way to blame it on the Romans.”

Lancelot’s lips curved into a ghost of a smile and he started once more toward the horse, his voice pitched low. “I’ve no idea what you might mean.”

“Don’t you?” Arthur returned with his own smile, moving closer to the corral. His hard soled boot brought a quick burst of dust from the dry wood. “Your failed attempt at Livia the other night.”

“She was willing enough.”

“Was she?” Arthur lowered his voice further, though no one else was near. “Then why did you come to my bed complaining that Roman women couldn’t satisfy you? All their skill and desire bored out of them?” He smiled again, his eyes watching Lancelot’s lithe form move around the enclosure slowly, the horse still keeping his distance. “Though if it’s Roman men that have bored them so, it does beg the question of why it was my bed you came to.”

“Someone has to teach you.” Lancelot stepped forward again then turned his back to the horse, extending his hand toward the animal as he walked away. Arthur watched as the horse stared at Lancelot for a few moments then stepped forward, beginning a slow trek around the corral. “Left to your own devices, you’d likely be the ruination of your race.”

“And you’re not hoping for the fall of the Roman Empire?” Arthur’s eyebrow rose in an imitation of Lancelot’s.

“I hate to tell you, Arthur.” Lancelot slowed, catching his hand in the horse’s mane. His smile forged lines beside his lips and eyes, base pleasure in his gaze. “But if you do what we do with your Roman women, you’ll not find many children in your future.”

Arthur laughed, the deep noise startling the horse and sending it galloping away from Lancelot’s touch. “You see?” Lancelot smirked. “A Roman’s fault.”

Arthur allowed another smile as Lancelot approached the horse again. “Perhaps, if the horse is Roman, you should approach it as such.”

“Stupid and plodding?” The flash of annoyance that had echoed in Lancelot’s eyes vanished as he smiled and turned again to offer his back to the horse. “Lacking in foresight and completely unskilled in planning?” He held out his hand to the horse and waited for its approach. “Do you hear how the Roman insults you?” He caught at the mane and turned, burying his head against the sleek neck. “Calls you Roman.” His voice changed, took on a soft, rumble that made Arthur’s body respond. “Think back to your blood. Feel what you are in your veins.” Still holding the mane, Lancelot pulled himself up slowly, lying across the animal’s back before easing up to straddle it.

“It does seem to enjoy you straddling it.” Arthur didn’t bother to hide his smirk, using it as a shield against the answering call of his own blood to Lancelot’s words. “Much like a Roman.”

Lancelot stopped the horse in front of Arthur. “A select Roman.”

Arthur reached out to stroke the animal’s neck. He fought against the smile that threatened at his lips. “As you say.”

Lancelot arched and eyebrow and urged the horse on again, making several circuits of the corral. “The way you talk, _Roman_ , it seems as though you’d rather I be even more select in my company.”

“Does it?” Arthur opened the gate to allow Lancelot to guide the horse free. “A strange impression you’ve received. I think you need to work a bit more on your Latin.” He walked a fair distance away as Lancelot made his way to the stable. “Or is this a case of you deliberately misunderstanding me?”

“Would I do such a thing?” Lancelot dismounted carefully and guided the horse into the stable, leaving it in one of the stable boy’s hands with a sharp word and a hard glare. He returned, falling into step with Arthur, their strides matching easily.

Arthur kept his eyes straight ahead. “You would, you know. You do.”

“What?”

The quick smirk was met by Arthur’s matching one. “Misunderstand me. My orders…and more.”

“I never disobey orders.”

“Oh?” Arthur’s voice was heavy with knowing disbelief. “Never?” They left the main courtyard, weaving through the dark labyrinth of passages through the fort.

“Unless, of course, they’re stupid.” Lancelot reached out, his hand grazing Arthur’s thigh as they walked, the seemingly innocent gesture causing Arthur to fall out of step. He glanced back and stopped, his eyes hot and his smile full of promise. “Careful, Commander.”

“You play with fire,” Arthur warned him in a low voice, his eyes surveying the stretch of passage, the scatting of people paying little to no attention to them.

Lancelot stepped closer and let his hand brush Arthur’s thigh again, more boldly this time. “You could use a little fire, Arthur.” Without looking around, he nudged Arthur hard with his shoulder, sending Arthur sprawling into a small niche in the wall, smiling and advancing as Arthur turned. “Or do you fear getting burned?”

Arthur reached out and grabbed Lancelot, jerking him forward until their bodies collided, solid flesh and warm, dark leather. “Burn me.”

Lancelot bit at Arthur’s mouth; his quick, sharp teeth breaking the skin and drawing blood. “Dare you risk being caught not taking the world on your shoulders?”

Arthur grabbed Lancelot’s arms and pushed off the wall, turning to force Lancelot against the side of the small space. “Do not use my duty as a way to get out of this Lancelot.” Arthur’s voice was smooth and thick with heat. He angled one leg between both of Lancelot’s. “Or are you all talk, my knight?”

Lancelot growled low in his throat, pushing against Arthur’s grip and grinding his body against his commander’s. “Try me, _my_ Roman.”

Arthur’s deep chuckle reverberated through him. “Will you show me what’s in my blood, Lancelot? Buried deep?”

Lancelot groaned and sought Arthur’s mouth, his tongue pushing past parted lips, his hands fisting tight in Arthur’s short hair. When he broke away, his breath was harsh and shallow. “In me, Arthur. Buried in me.”

Arthur pinned Lancelot against the wall again, shifting his hips so his hard length lay along Lancelot’s. “Yes.” He placed his hands on either side of Lancelot’s neck and held him, his mouth finding the younger man’s again in a rough kiss.

When he pulled back, Lancelot’s eyes were dark with desire, hunger glittering in their depths. “You say ‘yes’, Commander, as if you have a choice.” His breath was hot on Arthur’s neck as he slipped his hand between their bodies, his palm smoothing over the worn calfskin of Arthur’s trousers. “Where?”

Arthur groaned, his body thrusting on instinct, pushing against Lancelot’s palm. His brain fought to process where they were and what they were near when Lancelot shoved him away and slipped past him, disappearing down the passage.

“Lancelot…” He groaned again, this time the sound laced with a different sort of frustration. He reached down and shifted himself, hissing at the sensation, then hurried after Lancelot.

Reaching an intersection, he glanced around for Lancelot, growling at the knight’s absence. “Damn you,” Arthur cursed under his breath, starting as a soft touch grazed the back of his neck.

“Already damned,” Lancelot’s whisper was as gentle as his touch. “Or so you tell me, in the eyes of your God.” The pressure of his touch increased, turning Arthur toward him. “In here, my Roman.”

**

The room smelled of oil and metal. Hard smoke clung to the stone, making the air feel thick and warm. Lancelot’s hand slid from Arthur’s neck to the small of his back, leaving a trail of fire in the wake of his fingers.

“No one is here,” Lancelot whispered. “The smelting fires burn, Arthur.” He moved closer, his hand sliding down further, stroking the curve of Arthur’s buttocks. He nipped the lobe of Arthur’s ear. “Can you feel the heat?”

Arthur reached back and wrapped his large hand around Lancelot’s wrist. He turned, backing the knight to the soot covered wall. “Feel this, Lancelot.” He reached down, undoing the thick laces that held Lancelot’s trousers closed, tugging them loose before sliding his hand beneath the leather and wrapping it around Lancelot’s shaft. “Feel me.”

Lancelot’s head fell back, his eyes closing as Arthur stroked his length. His breath caught and shuddered, his hard muscles tight with tension as Arthur ground against him. “So hard for me,” Arthur purred, his voice as thick as smoke. “My knight.”

He ran his thumb over the head of Lancelot’s cock, smoothing the wet evidence of arousal against the sensitive skin, swallowing Lancelot’s groan in a heady kiss.

Pulling back, Arthur laughed low, sucking on Lancelot’s bottom lip, his hand still stroking implacably along the hard flesh. “Should I take you on your knees, Lancelot? Make you bend to my will as the horse does to yours?”

“Ar-Arthur.” Lancelot’s breath caught in his throat, his words strangled.

“Would you sink to your knees for me, Lancelot?”

“Please…Arthur.” Lancelot’s voice was thready with wanting as he canted his hips toward Arthur, thrusting hard into his hand. “Please.”

“Or shall I force you against the wall? So you can feel the rough stone against your face?” The speed of his stroke increased, his hand tightening around the shaft. “Do you want to feel it, Lancelot?” He dropped his voice, moving closer. “Tell me.”

“Yes,” Lancelot pleaded roughly. “Yes, Arthur.” He nodded, the movement as erratic as those of his hips. “Please.” His hips jerked once more, the movement sharp as he spilled himself in Arthur’s hand. He shuddered, gasping hotly.

Arthur watched him with hooded eyes for a moment, taking in the sight of Lancelot’s loose form. “You say ‘yes’, my knight, like you have a choice.” His voice rasped like a blade against stone. “Turn around.”

Lancelot turned, his eyes holding Arthur’s until the last possible second. He braced himself against the wall, his hands splayed on the brick as his back arched, angling his body toward Arthur’s.

“Oh, no.” Arthur reached out and grasped Lancelot’s wrist, winding his hand back down behind his back, forcing him hard against the stone. “You said you wanted to feel it.”

Lancelot groaned low in his throat and swallowed hard, bowing his head slightly, the rasp of stone against his skin loud in the silence. Arthur released Lancelot’s hand and stripped away his leather trousers, trailing his fingers over the curve of Lancelot’s buttocks. Lancelot sucked in a sharp gasp of air, closing his eyes as he moved against Arthur’s hand.

“So eager,” Arthur’s voice was deep with hunger as he moved away from Lancelot toward the table at the center of the room, his fingers circling the rim of a pot of silvery oil. He dipped his fingers in the cool liquid and smiled. The sword makers would scarcely notice a few fingers of oil missing as they polished burnished metal. He brought the pot over to where Lancelot waited for him, stroking his coated fingers down to Lancelot’s tight opening. “Is this what you want?”

“Arthur.” Lancelot growled roughly, the sound thick in his throat. His hand still stayed on the small of his back, his fingers clenching. Arthur set the pot down and grasped the thin wrist, bringing it higher up Lancelot’s back. “Oh…yes.”

“Yes, my knight?” Arthur asked softly, easing his finger past the tight ring of muscle. “Yes…what?”

“Yes, Arthur.” He grit his teeth and thrust back against Arthur’s hand. “Please.”

Arthur moved in closer, his fingers sliding deeper. Lancelot groaned again in response, shifting his weight as he moved his free hand from its place on the wall down to his erection, curving it around the hard length. Arthur huffed a breath of a laugh against Lancelot’s cheek, taking in Lancelot’s sigh of relief as he began stroking himself, the scrape of beard and skin against stone. “Better than a Roman woman, Lancelot?”

“Not anything,” he panted, “a woman can’t do, Commander.”

His laughter echoing softly against Lancelot’s skin, Arthur reached for the oil and coated it along his cock, the hard length glistening the silver slick of steel. “And what of this, my knight?” He replaced his fingers with his cock, pushing inside Lancelot slowly, sheathing himself in flesh. “Can a woman, Roman or otherwise,” he pulled back and then thrust forward, pushing deeper, “do this?”

Lancelot’s reply was lost in the heft of Arthur’s body as he began thrusting; the words muffled by flesh and stone and need. Blood pounded in Arthur’s ears as Lancelot’s body closed around him, tight and hot and pulsing, constricting with every thrust. Arthur braced on hand on the stone near Lancelot’s head and let the other move down, replacing the hand Lancelot ran over his shaft.

They moved in unison, heat and steam rending them wet with sweat as the hand on Lancelot’s cock tightened in time with the muscles around Arthur’s shaft. Thrust and counterthrust played havoc on them both, breathing descending into rough, desperate pants, gasps of air that grew more needy as Lancelot’s body tightened further.

“So deep in me, Arthur,” the words fell from Lancelot’s lips, dry and hot. “In my blood.”

“In mine,” Arthur assured him, feeling his own body teeter at the edge of loss. “Always in mine.” He closed his eyes, resting his head against Lancelot’s neck, breathing him in as he spent himself. The movement and heat and sharp bite of Arthur’s teeth on the sensitive skin of his throat caused Lancelot to groan again, his body convulsing as he found his own release.

Arthur rolled away, falling back against the wall and watching as Lancelot shifted, turning toward Arthur. His flesh was red, slightly raw from the wall; the abrasive surface scoured the skin of his cheek and jaw. Arthur reached up, his finger ghosting over the flesh. When Lancelot didn’t move, Arthur forced himself off the wall and leaned in, feathering a soft kiss over Lancelot’s cheek.

Lancelot watched him as he pulled away, slumping back against the wall, licking the slight hint of red from his lips. “In your blood now, Arthur.”

Arthur smiled and shook his head, forcing himself to standing again and reaching to adjust his trousers. “Long before now, Lancelot.” He stole another kiss, this one much harder, much deeper. “Long before now.”


End file.
